


Fallen Feathers

by dimtraces, shadowmaat, SLWalker



Series: Taking Flight [16]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Cross-fandom reference, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Maul rocks glitter, Mutual Pining, Pre-Slash, Snowball Fights, Some minor adult content, Wingfic, preening
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-01
Updated: 2018-02-01
Packaged: 2019-03-12 10:05:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13545090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dimtraces/pseuds/dimtraces, https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowmaat/pseuds/shadowmaat, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SLWalker/pseuds/SLWalker
Summary: Snippets from Taking Flight that aren't central enough to include as stand-alone stories.





	1. Preening

**Author's Note:**

> These are prompted pieces; if you ever have any prompts, feel free to send them in! As such, they aren't in any chronological order, though we'll try to note it if it's important.

There was something very gratifying about putting things to rights.

Obi-Wan wasn’t _fastidious_ by nature, though he wasn’t messy, either; instead, he tended to straighten things up a piece at a time when it suited him. But there was a special sort of pleasure in fixing Maul’s feathers for him, the many he couldn’t reach himself. Obi-Wan had gotten good at this; at using a pair of pallete knife blades taped to two fingers on one hand, working tandem with bare fingers on the other, to preen feathers. It was time-consuming, but almost meditative– sometimes. When it wasn’t fuel for his continuing unrequited feelings.

There wasn’t a ton of work to be done on the small, fine feathers; he’d pull a loose one, and knew which ones were loose by how the soft parts refused to lay flat, but they only really required knowledgeable fingers to stroke them into place otherwise. Those small feathers shed, it seemed, much like human hair, replacing themselves regularly.

The larger ones required more work; the coverts, lesser and greater. Those, he would drawn between fingers and blades, conditioning them and occasionally fixing them, though they didn’t tend to split like flight feathers did. Those took the better part of an hour alone, but it was an enjoyable hour. Hand over hand, one at a time, from left to right like reading a book.

If, sometimes, Obi-Wan just sat back and admired the gleam and health of the ranks of black feathers laying in their elegant rows, well. It was another part of the compensation.

(If, sometimes, Obi-Wan sat back and wondered what it would be like to lay himself along Maul’s back, sliding his arms under those wings out-stretched, that was something he would have to deal with later in the ‘fresher.)

Usually, by the time he got to the large flight feathers, Maul would be dozing. Those took the most time, given how _huge_ they were, and it probably didn’t help things any that Obi-Wan would sometimes just draw fingers along them admiring them. The primaries, with their brilliant red inner edges. The more bluntly shaped secondaries, all pitch black except where they caught and reflected light.

All so perfectly fit to the smooth, red-and-black skin they complimented.

Maul had expressed some confusion early on, that Obi-Wan had any real desire to do this. That he volunteered for it and didn’t feel put out by the work. And it _was_ work, sometimes hours of it. But over time, Maul seemed to accept that it was at least _wanted_ work, instead of duty or obligation, and Obi-Wan didn’t have to tell him how oddly wonderful he found it, to just go and set things right, or how _good_ it was to get to the end, only to find Maul had drifted off, trusting under his own hands.

(And if, by chance, he had to go retreat to the ‘fresher for a moment alone, with the thought of bared skin on skin, and the brush of feathers against his own naked form, he didn’t have to say anything about that, either.)


	2. Snowball Fight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place sometime after Age of Responsibility.

There were very few places on Coruscant where it _snowed_.

One of those places just so happened to be in the Jedi Temple.

The large space was maintained by strict environmental systems, populated with hearty evergreens from Chandrila and winterberries from Alderaan, and it did have a short seasonal cycle for spring, summer and autumn to maintain the health of the microclimate, but mostly it was snowy for roughly nine to ten months at a time. It was an oasis for those from cold climates and those whose species were adapted to it.

Maul liked the place, but only in very _small_ amounts. He had not cared for cold since his Master had chucked him into that lake on Mygeeto and he didn’t foresee that ever changing. He was willing to go in to swipe some berries for their tea, but then he was usually right back out.

Obi-Wan, on the other hand, seemed to really like the novelty of it. Case in point: Right now, he was laying on the ground, dressed in a parka, and doing– something with his arms and legs. Sawing them against the ground.

When he caught Maul staring at him in confusion, he beamed. “Making my own wings,” he said, pointing to the arcs on either side of him where his arms had been sweeping in the snow.

They didn’t have much resemblance to wings, but Maul wasn’t going to shoot down the indulgence. “All right,” he agreed, before turning back to collecting the berries he had come here for.

He had most of them gathered when he felt the _thump_. It hit the back of his right wing and exploded into powdery white, and it actually took him several moments to connect that event with the realization that someone had _thrown snow at him_.

He paused. Turned back. Found himself facing a padawan with a red nose and cheeks, grinning broadly while shaping another ball of snow between his likewise red fingers.

_Ah._

Obi-Wan was winding up to throw the next one when Maul gestured, using the Force to lift the better part of an entire snow drift. There was a long moment there where Obi-Wan’s eyes went very wide (very blue in this world of white and dark green) and then he settled himself into stance with shoulder forward, bracing his feet on the ground. “If that’s how you want to play it!”

It ended with Maul picking up his small cloth sack of berries, stepping over the mound of snow – not on it – and wrapping his hand around Obi-Wan’s, which was the only part of the padawan sticking out of the snow, in order to drag his giggling body out.


	3. Shower Hog

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please forgive me.

Maul was a shower-hog.

Obi-Wan couldn’t really find fault with it, though. Maul didn’t allow himself all that many personal indulgences, and if taking long showers was one of those, Obi could afford to be patient. Even if he _was_ sweaty from his saber-training session with the other senior padawans and smelled worse than a bantha’s ass right now.

What Obi-Wan didn’t expect was the _singing_.

He stood listening with his head tilted, wondering who the heck could have taught Maul that entirely sappy kind of love song, and at the same time also thinking, _huh, he has a nice voice_. It seemed half-absent, and not some kind of intentional concert, like Maul had the song stuck in his head and wasn’t actually aware he was singing; he occasionally went sharp or flat on a note, but then would correct it.

It didn’t help that Obi had heard the song before himself; it was pretty popular right now.

He could maybe blame his red face on his prior exercises, instead of imagining that Maul was singing for _him_.

Obi-Wan was known for breaking out into song once in awhile, depending on several factors, including how much alcohol he’d consumed and how good the acoustics of a place was. (And how alone he was, unless there was alcohol involved.) But before he really had a chance to reason things out, he found himself jumping in to sing the next verse.

It was usually sung at a higher register, but, well–

_“Suddenly the world seems such a perfect place;_   
_“Suddenly it moves with such a perfect grace;_   
_“Suddenly my life doesn’t seem such a waste;_   
_“It all revolves around you…!”_

There was a thump from the ‘fresher as his voice resonated, and Obi-Wan was just about to launch into the bridge when the door slid open and a thoroughly drenched Maul was staring at him open-mouthed, wings bristled and clutching a towel that just _barely_ covered–

Obi-Wan gaped right back, blushing furiously, and therefore didn’t even think to deflect the very damp towel that smacked his face.

 _“Show off,”_ Maul hissed, and then the door to the ‘fresher slid closed again.


	4. Glitter

The Festival of Life was a week-long affair, and Maul felt _every single day of it_.

It wasn’t in a bad way, but he had never celebrated a public holiday in his life and thus was largely behind the curve when it came to knowing what to do, how to react, what to expect. On the first morning, he woke up to find Obi had made him tea and outsourced breakfast, and thus actually didn’t even have to get out of bed to have said breakfast. When he asked _why_ , Obi-Wan explained and then Maul had a minor panic attack because he wasn’t sure what to do back, and then Obi-Wan hastily and sweetly reassured him that he didn’t have to do anything, because Obi-Wan _wanted_ to bring him breakfast.

Nonetheless.

In the creche (where he spent more time than sanity would dictate), the children were making paper decorations and covering them in glitter, and Maul obligingly helped with that until _he_ was covered in glitter.

“Ooooooh,” Molly said, looking at him wide-eyed.

The other members of Archix Clan nodded, just as apparently awestruck by the now _glittering_ winged zabrak in their midst, when Issa jumped up and said, “Lights!”

“Wait, Issa–” Maul started, but the rest of the clan broke into enthusiastic babble and all chased after her.

“I think they’re going to decorate you,” Master Vrik said, one eye watching Maul, the other pivoting to follow the younglings as they went digging through their craft room.

Maul looked down over at himself; at the frosty and silver glitter that speckled him head to toe and especially stuck to his feathers, then went to protest and then found he didn’t have the hearts.

A full hour, two sets of small, soft white lights, two dozen delicate, tinkling bells later, and Maul was apparently the neatest Festival of Life mascot ever to walk the halls of the Jedi Temple. Issa dragged him along with his gaggle of crechelings as they made for the cafeteria, and perhaps even stranger than the starry-eyed, wonder-struck crechelings was the number of starry-eyed, wonder-struck _padawans_.

Even _Vos_ seemed to be gaping. “Wow. Pretty. Hey, do you think–”

Bant promptly kicked him in the leg. “Don’t. You. Dare.”

Doubtless something was about to pop out of the kiffar’s mouth about Obi-Wan, but Maul was too busy being caught in the wave of small bodies to pause and worry about it.

The entire cafeteria fell silent when they tumbled in the door. One could hear a feather fall, if it did. And then, suddenly, the whole place broke out into applause; the noise was so raucous and sudden that Maul startled backwards and–

–ran straight into Obi-Wan, transferring glitter and nearly sending them both to the ground.

They gaped at one another for a moment, amidst the still loud cheering, then Obi-Wan looked him over and then gave a breathless huff and a smile. “You look–”

“Ridiculous?” Maul asked, feeling thirty-thousand times more sheepish than he wanted to.

“Beautiful,” Obi-Wan answered, sincerely.

Make that forty-thousand.

Still, the next morning, Maul was the one who made breakfast and brought it to Obi-Wan in bed, resigning himself to the fact that there were four more days to this festival and it was only going to get worse from here.

(But if he happened to replay that moment over and over, hearts pounding at the memory and face heated, maybe that made it all a little easier to get through.)


	5. Dancing Lessons

When his master informed him of his intentions for the afternoon, Obi-Wan had been a mix of excited and _nervous_. He had gone and showered thoroughly, scrubbed his armpits, used ample deodorant and had even used conditioner on his hair. He’d scrubbed his teeth and actually agonized a little over what to wear, before opting for a comfortable sleeveless shirt and his usual leggings.

He was sort of pleased and flattered that Maul took over the ‘fresher right after him, too.

He knew that they wouldn’t be doing anything _untoward_ with Qui-Gon watching them, but the prospect of spending his afternoon with his arms around Maul was an undeniably pleasant one.

Until it actually happened.

“My _foot_ ,” he hissed, wincing; Maul got off of his toes, only to trip over his own primaries and end up sprawling.

Maul looked up at him, unhappily, and even with his toes hurting, Obi-Wan found his eyes drawn to Maul’s full, banded lower lip, which seemed to be almost pushed out in a pout.

Qui-Gon, on the other hand, was infuriatingly patient. “A little slower this time, gentlemen. Ready again.”

Obi-Wan gave Maul a hand up and they pressed back in close, though not quite close enough for full frontal contact. The faint scent of soap and essential oils hammered his senses, drifting up from the heat radiating off of Maul’s skin.

“And– one, two, three–” Qui-Gon counted.

They ended up sprawled a dozen times, but by the end of the lesson, both of them bruised and sore and a little surly, they were intimately well-acquainted with one anothers’ scent.

Obi-Wan waited until Maul’s breathing went slow and even beside him before slipping his hand under the covers, chewing on his bottom lip, in the hopes of relieving a little bit of the pressure.


End file.
